The Ups and Downs of Crowd-funded Publishing

What an interesting piece this is! A warm welcome to Jennie Ensor from Authonomy days. She has certainly taken herself through the mill to get what she wants. I take my hat off to her, and leave her to tell us how it all happened. And if you want to ask her any questions, please use the comments section of this blog!

Jennie Ensor pic

My journey into crowdfunded publishing: How I faced my fears, ignored advice and raised over £3000 – and now await the launch of my debut novel

A growing number of books are being published in radically different ways – one of them is my debut novel. As a result of the funds I managed to raise recently, my domestic noir thriller Ghosts of Chechnya is to be published this summer by Unbound, a dedicated crowdfunding publisher. I thought it might be interesting to look back at how it happened.

In search of that lucky break

After starting to write fiction in the late 1990s, I had many years of failing to find that ‘lucky break’. I’d worked as a freelance journalist and had poems published but couldn’t find a publisher for my novels. I’d done all the usual things such as submitting to agents (how many hours rejigging sample chapters, I hate to think) but all I had to show for this was lavish praise from an agent or two and a ton of rejections.

Authonomy

gold star

In early 2014 I realised I needed to ‘put myself out there’. I’d pretty much avoided social media and online forums. With trepidation I joined the Authonomy online writing community run by HarperCollins and put Ghosts up for review. It reached the Editor’s Desk in July 2015 (just before the site closed). Though I still had no agent or publisher, reaching this goal increased my confidence as a writer.

Facing my fears

Along with many writers, for years I was anxious about the idea of using social media, especially Twitter. Though by 2015 I was on Facebook a fair bit and had made some online writer friends, the idea of blogging (micro or macro) felt terrifyingly exposing, not to mention time absorbing. A publisher I’d submitted to advised me to start a blog and get on Twitter… so one soul-searching night in May 2015 I decided to embrace the digital world. I created my author website/blog, posted my first blog and a tentative tweet.

An opportunity

A few months later, on the off chance they might be interested, I submitted Ghosts of Chechnya to Unbound, emphasising my efforts at building a ‘platform’ and reluctance to give up on any task. To my great surprise I received a conditional publishing offer – my novel had been selected for Unbound’s new digital genre fiction list.

Given that this sounded like a wonderful opportunity, I accepted despite knowing that 30% of projects fail, and advice that one needs a large network of contacts and strong social media presence to be successful – I didn’t believe I had either. (As luck would have it, I had an offer from another publisher three days after signing with Unbound.)

The ups and downs of crowdfunding

So, how did I raise well over £3000 in 3 months?

Without a doubt, my attempt to do this is in the Top 3 (1?) challenges of my life. I was given a week or two to make a pitch video and decide on my pledge rewards (such as a tour of the novel’s settings – Ghosts is set in London in 2005, before and after 7/7). Then I had three months to get my book project funded, or deal off. I found a friend of a friend to make my video, wrote, shot and edited it in a week while suffering from my worst cold in years, then set to work trying to find supporters.

WHY AM I DOING THIS?

After the ‘easy’ bit (30% raised in a few weeks from friends, relatives and others, including some wonderful ex-Authonomites and ‘real-life’ writers) I began to realise this was going to be… well, effing hard. Around Christmas people stopped pledging. My stress soared (weekly ‘progress’ reports didn’t help), I became fixated on my ‘Percentage Funded’ and woke in the night deeply depressed at the thought of having to spend hours badgering friends yet again (I nearly fell out with several) and dreaming up bizarre schemes to encourage people to part with a tenner for my not-yet-ready e-book.

ghosts

I considered giving up – and might have, had it not been for my husband’s encouragement along with my determination not to let this thing beat me.

So, what did I do to get there?

What didn’t I do? Loads of things that turned out to be next to useless – churning out posters advertising book readings, going door to door and around local cafes with my book info, hunting down celebrities who might just pledge… Some things I thought would work took too long to organise (talks at book clubs, etc). Twitter didn’t yield much though I was on it quite a lot in case someone mega famous decided to pledge. I spent days emailing all and sundry.

pledges

Feeling down after Christmas, I contacted other Unbound authors going through the same thing via Facebook. I organised a ‘live pledging’ event with readings from four of us, which resulted in modest extra support and much stress (a network failure halfway through made live pledges impossible). But the solidarity gained lifted my spirits – I gritted my teeth and kept going. I did my first author interview, for a Russian language newspaper. Pledges kept trickling in. However, in mid February I was only 68% funded and perilously close to my February 26 deadline. (An extension was asked for but looked uncertain.)

Outcome

I made my target 3 days before deadline while in Glasgow for a reading with fellow funding author Ian Skewis. I’d been planning a final desperate pledge hunt en-route; fortunately an anonymous donor (cue much excitement, mystery and speculation) took my book to 95% funded in one fell swoop. In the next 24 hours a flurry of pledges took it to 100%. I was overjoyed and overwhelmed, and spent the next week on a high.

Other outcomes:

  • Crowdfunding experience to add to my CV
  • ‘Going from shy and retiring into a brazen hussy’ – words of a friend

To wrap up

My thanks to anyone reading this who has supported my book. Please note, pledges can still be made (until May I think), with all supporter names to go inside a special edition.

My advice to anyone considering this route:

This crowdfunding thing is not for everyone. But you never really know till you try it. While it may not be true that anything is possible, a great deal that you don’t expect is.

Ghosts of Chechnya is due to be published by Unbound in early summer 2016 www.unbound.co.uk/books/ghosts-of-chechnya

Jennie Ensor’s blog/website: www.jennieensor.com

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The Places I was in Mentally

Welcome to Sue Moorhouse today, another Authonomy Gold Medallist on our journey to publication all those years ago. Settings to our books has produced some interesting variations on the theme, and Sue is delightfully lateral in her thinking.

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I’m not sure that my fairy stories for the mature have much sense of place.  The places are various, from palaces to care homes and tower blocks. I certainly can’t rival Jane’s evocative description of Kenya!  So, I thought that I’d write about the places I was in mentally, when I wrote the stories.

It had been a depressing time, working and trying to help friends, parents and parents-in-law in their final years, as they suffered from dementia and other illnesses. In each case we were left exhausted, sad and with a feeling of guilt. We had tried. Had we done the right things? Could we have done better?

It is a common situation, and for anyone going through it now, may I recommend: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Final-Chapters-Writings-About-Life/dp/1849054908/ref There are some wonderful stories here. (One of them, how did you guess, by me.)

I wrote the fairy tales, Broomstick, Walking Sticks and Zimmer Frames, as a bit of fun to cheer myself up. I was still thinking a lot about old people, so the stories are written from the point of view of the older characters; Red Riding Hood’s granny, the wicked queen blogging about avoiding wrinkles, an troll in a tower block complaining about ‘kids’ today, the witch in Hansel and Gretel, some elderly animals keen to set up a sixties pop group.  And so on.

I crossed my fingers and put the book up on the Authonomy writing site.  People seemed to like it!  It actually won a medal.  Most of all I had great fun playing the Authonomy game and made some lovely on-line writer friends. Happy times were here again.

Broomsticks was traditionally published (ie they pay me, but not much) by a small indie publisher, Ecanus.  They did a good job with kindle and paperback, though I would love to see the stories as a cartoon type book one day.

 http://www.amazon.co.uk/Broomsticks-Walking-Sticks-Zimmer-Frames-ebook/dp/B00A93ZK9E/ref

http://www.amazon.com/Broomsticks-Walking-Sticks-Zimmer-Frames-ebook/dp/B00A93ZK9E/ref

All very silly!   I am donating all royalties to the Alzheimer’s Society.

A friend did some illustrations of the characters for me, just for advertising purposes.  See what you think.

The Fairy Godmother

cartoon

Magic is a talent you never lose. It’s like riding a thingie … bicycle. Not that I could ride one now.

‘You’re going to the ball in a pumpkin,’ I tell my goddaughter.

That didn’t quite come out right. Ella looks surprised.

‘I didn’t mean a pumpkin.  I meant one of those cars.  That’s it a … you know, one of those cars.’

There’s a mouse, and he lives in the wall of my room.  It’s one of those big, old houses, you see, this care home. He’ll make a lovely chau… chau … driver for the car. I just stare at him and concentrate.

‘Look out of the window,’ I tell Ella.

She gasps.  ‘Is that for me? It’s a white Rolls Royce.’

Not quite the car I meant, but it will do.  The mouse looks handsome too, sitting in the driver’s seat in a peaked cap.  I don’t know. I suppose he’ll be able to drive since I changed him into a driver.

‘You must be back by midnight,’ I tell Ella.  ‘I can only keep the spell going while I’m awake and I always drop off at midnight.  Old age – I can’t help it.’

Rapunzel – Scandal at The Towers College for Young Ladies

Every evening Miss Batt, school matron, made a last patrol of the dormitories at eleven. On that particular night she heard giggling and whispering in Room 16. She crept closer, trying not to tread too heavily and listened at the door.

There was more suspicious giggling and muffled shrieking.  Those gels had no business to be out of bed and making a noise at that time of night.

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‘Rapunzel, Rapunzel,’ a voice called from somewhere outside. ‘Hurry up and let down the bloody hair, will you?’

Good Grief! It was a man’s voice.

There they were, when she entered Room 16, Punzi and her chums, dangling those long plaits of false hair out of the window. Miss Batt was across the room in two strides, thrusting her head out to see what was happening. Great Heavens! A man was halfway up the wall, climbing the plaits of hair that the girls had tied to the window frame. The blighter was trying to gain access to her girls’ dormitory!

The Planning Inspector

cartoon3Ms Bacon?  I am here on behalf of the Planning Department. I am afraid I have the unpleasant task of giving you notice to vacate this property.

You cannot simply throw up a building wherever you please — even if the building were suitable —which it is not.  Building regulations must be adhered to; dwellings must be constructed of approved materials, brick or stone being preferred.  Your house may be suitable for a Medieval Life theme park, if you will excuse my little joke, but it is inappropriate for this area or indeed any other area I can think of.  I am aware that straw is an ecologically sound insulating material, but you are required to follow proper procedures, Ms Bacon, like everyone else in the country.

 

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Do I Know What I’m Doing?

Ol Donyo L'Engai 1966

The sequel is finished. A burden has lifted from my shoulders. Only some editing remains after feedback from friendly readers, and then I can submit GRASS SHOOTS to my publishers.

I am tired. I don’t want to write another novel – for a long time, anyway.

Why don’t I just sit back and relax?

I did – for a week or so.

But nearly two years ago I embarked on a public speaking course with Toastmasters International, because I had started giving talks related to my writings, and I wanted to learn how to do it properly. By the time I’d completed the first hurdle I had a varied selection of entertaining and inspiring talks under my belt, and was ready for more. But I also needed a break from the Club.

So I start thinking forwards. Clubs and Societies are always looking for speakers, I’m told. But I’ve learned that they plan their schedules a year ahead. If I’ve gone through all the stress and agony of exposing myself to critical professionals in the interests of improvement, I need to do something to show for it. And I’ve discovered the intoxicating buzz of power when I hold an audience captive.

I speak to a local contact, and she puts me on her list for next year. I commit to an audition with the Women’s Institute. I find myself searching the internet for opportunities. And before I know it, I have registered with a website, Contact an Author.

What on earth have I done? I’m in my mid seventies, and health isn’t what it used to be. Take a look HERE and tell me what you think. And wish me luck when I face a hundred members of the East Sussex WI on 19th April, who will decide whether or not to approve me for their next year’s speakers list.

I’m nervous as a kitten, feeling like a schoolgirl facing her first exam. Have I entered my second childhood – do I know what I’m doing?

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Step Forward Google Earth!

Welcome back, Tim Taylor, fellow Crooked Cat author, who has valiantly risen to my challenge and shares with us how he surmounted the problem of settings in his two excellent historical novels.

tim

Hello Jane!  Many thanks for hosting me!

I understand that the theme for your Tuesday blog is the setting for novels. My two booksZoI cover posed rather different challenges in this regard. Zeus of Ithome charts the historical struggle of the Messenian people to liberate themselves from their Spartan neighbours, and was set in southern and central Greece in the 4th century BC. It was important to convey a vivid sense of place as my central character Diocles, a runaway ‘helot’ slave, travels around Greece seeking support for his cause and returns to Messenia to begin the revolt. But there was a problem. I had been to some of the locations that feature in the story, such as Delphi (a magical place, half way up a mountain), but there were others, including Sparta and Thebes, that I had never visited, and sadly my budget did not run to an exploratory trip to Greece!

The solution? Step forward Google Earth! This overlays satellite imagery on a 3-D terrain map, and allowed me to follow in the footsteps of my characters, seeing the landscape more or less as they would have seen it. It also allows you to access numerous photos, not just of landscapes but of buildings and objects. Combining that with wider research, memory and a little imagination (since much has changed or disappeared, especially buildings, in the intervening millennia) I was able to come closer to putting myself in 4th century Greece alongside my characters than I had ever thought possible.

Delphi_Greece_(19)               To illustrate, here’s a short scene from the book. Diocles arrives at Delphi, where he is to consult the oracle how the Messenians can achieve their freedom.

 

When finally he arrived at Delphi, he found a room in one of many kapeleia in the little town which sprawled outside the walls of the sacred precinct. After a brief rest during which he consumed the last of the bread and cheese that had been packed for him, there was time for Diocles to explore. He was greatly struck by the beauty of the place, with its fine buildings set into the hillside so that, seen from above, they were silhouetted against the surrounding mountains and the plunging valley below. In this panhellenic shrine, every state in Greece seemed to have vied with every other to contribute the most elegant buildings, the most imposing statues, the most precious artifacts. He understood now why the sacred enclosure was surrounded by a tall stone wall. Most impressive of all, though, was the great temple of Apollo in the centre of the complex. It was here where, on the following day, the Pythia would breathe of the vapours emanating from a deep crack in the earth at the heart of the temple and speak her prophecies to those who had travelled to Delphi to hear them.

 

You can find more excerpts from Zeus of Ithome on its page on my website.

 5bBy contrast, Revolution Day is set in a fictional Latin American country. It follows a year in the life of ageing dictator Carlos Almanzor, clinging doggedly to power as his vice-president, ostensibly loyal, orchestrates a complex plot against him.

The setting needed to be plausibly South or Central American, but beyond that there were no constraints. This was both liberating and a little intimidating, as I had to rely mostly on imagination – albeit stimulated by some browsing of real places in the region (again with the help of Google Earth) – to construct the backdrop against which the events of the novel take place.

Here’s a brief excerpt as an example of what I came up with. Carlos’s estranged wife, Juanita, has been under house arrest for sixteen years (and is secretly writing a memoir which chronicles his regime’s descent from idealism into repression).  She is gazing at mountains she can never visit …

 

When the sun is bright and the air is clear, I have a view from this window over successive green waves of tree-covered hills as far as the mountains on the horizon. If it is a sunny morning, I always come here after waking to see whether they are visible. When they are, I may sit here for an hour or two, drinking coffee and listening to music, imagining myself hiking along that rugged skyline. I managed to persuade the guards to let me have a small pair of binoculars, pretending that I was interested in birdwatching. In reality, I use them not for that, or even for spying on the sentries who are always posted discreetly on the road outside the house, but for following the mountain ridges on those special days, slowly tracking from one end to the other as if I were watching someone walk the route. I know every crag, every snow field like a close friend.

            Unfortunately, those days are all too rare; usually either the mountains are covered in cloud, or the air is so thick with haze that over the fifty kilometres or so between my bedroom window and the horizon it becomes quite opaque. There have been just seventeen days so far this year when I have been able to see the mountains. Today it is hazy, so I must content myself with a view of the main highway out of the city and the forest beyond. Even when the mountains are not visible, I often spend time here, just sitting on the bed and watching the cars and trucks moving from right to left, left to right, and the occasional plane unzipping the sky above them.

 

You can find more excerpts on the Revolution Day page on my website

 

Revolution Day is one of our publisher, Crooked Cat’s featured books this week, and both books are currently available at only 99p/99c!

Thanks again for hosting me today, Jane!

Other Links:

 

Facebook author page:  https://www.facebook.com/timtaylornovels

Website:  http://www.tetaylor.co.uk/

Twitter:  https://twitter.com/timetaylor1

Revolution Day on Amazon.co.uk

Zeus of Ithome on Amazon.co.uk

Blog: https://timwordsblog.wordpress.com/

 

Tim was born in 1960 in Stoke-on-Trent. He studied Classics at Pembroke College, Oxford (and later Philosophy at Birkbeck, University of London). After a couple of years playing in a rock band, he joined the Civil Service, eventually leaving in 2011 to spend more time writing.

Tim now lives in Yorkshire with his wife Rosa and divides his time between creative writing, academic research and part-time teaching and other work for Leeds and Huddersfield Universities.

Tim’s first novel, Zeus of Ithome, a historical novel about the struggle of the ancient Messenians to free themselves from Sparta, was published by Crooked Cat in November 2013; his second, Revolution Day in June 2015.  Tim also writes poetry and the occasional short story, plays guitar, and likes to walk up hills.

 

 

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Architecture Seen as a Post to Pee Against

What a delight to welcome Sarah Stevenson today, who treats us to something entirely different by way of settings. And I can guarantee you’ll enjoy her unique book.

Sarah_photo1 

Thank you so much for hosting me, Jane. And what a fascinating, thought provoking subject.

            I am a new writer and Dougal’s Diary, my first book, was published in January. Because it’s a Dougal Snowfictional diary written by a dog, I didn’t have to worry too much about vital things such as settings, hooks at the end of chapters and the five senses. Of course dogs do have a highly developed sense of smell, but are more interested in the aroma of sausages than the scent of a rose. Beautiful sunsets are unlikely to be noticed and architecture seen as a post to pee against, as opposed to a work of art.

            A real version of Dougal does exist, so when it came to settings it made sense to base the story where I live in South East London; walks in Greenwich Park, trips to the vet and tow path runs along the Thames. In a way, the setting chose itself.

             Right now I am facing many new challenges. Since I didn’t want to write another dog book, I decided to try my hand at cosy crime. And here I met all the pitfalls I’d avoided with Dougal’s Diary; structure, pace and settings.

   239         I thought I’d use my own experiences as a free-lance chef and send Tilly Carey to a stately home to cook for a funeral. It’s her first job out of catering college. Deaths occur. If it’s poison, is she to blame? For the settings in Recipe for Murder, I decided on large rambling houses in Gloucestershire, Malta and Bristol.

            I grew up in Bristol, in the top flat of a mansion. The architect who designed the Paragon built the last house for himself; forty rooms including anti-room and ballroom. There was a lift for coal and rubbish. A caretaker’s flat in the basement and in the vaults below, a huge wine cellar, without any bottles. Outside there were terraces, balconies, a garden with a tennis court, fig trees, vines and greenhouses. I guess I’m familiar with large, crumbling dwellings.  

            I’ve worked in several country houses close to Highgrove House in Gloucestershire and given BBQ’s for the three Princes after polo matches. But how much of the area did I actually take in? Most of my time was spent in kitchens; the only outings ones to re-stock shelves and fridges. I realised I knew more about Waitrose in Cirencester than I did about the surrounding villages. And I had to be careful not to describe the dining rooms of Lambeth and Kensington Palace or the fourteenth century house with great hall, minstrels’ gallery and one toilet, where Princess Margaret loved to visit. Never give any secrets away.

             I needed to find the right year for the setting in Recipe for Murder, and picked October 2008.The banking crisis. The collapse of the housing market and terrible weather, forcing road closures in the West Country. Food deliveries affected. The shops empty of provisions. It was also the year Malta adopted the euro. And a time when their cheap hotels were so sub-standard, cockroaches enjoyed a daily parade across many dining room floors.

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Malta

            Just to give myself a bigger headache, I gave the main character, Tilly, an assistant from Tbilisi. Konstantine is a student, studying in London.

 

 Why, I ask myself, did I not set it in some fictional place, in no particular year where all facts about weather, TV programmes and political scandals could be entirely made up?

            Whenever I go away next, I shall take down every minute detail about the location, just in case I want to put it in a novel. Meanwhile, I shall drive west, taking in Bath, Bristol and Tetbury. But should I re-visit Malta? And what about Tbilisi?

Dougal’s Diary, published by Crooked Cat, can be found on amazon: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Dougals-Diary-Its-Dogs-Life-ebook/dp/B019BCEVMA/

Has he chosen his owner well and landed on his paws? Dougal the Labradoodle puppy, a complete hypochondriac and Boris Johnson’s No 1 fan, arrives in Greenwich with great expectations.

He longs to travel the world on Virgin Atlantic, dine at royal banquets and either become a superstar and party the night away or work as a doorman at the Savoy.

Behaviour classes were never on his wish-list, neither were cliff-hanging experiences on the Thames, booze cruises to Calais or obsessions for eating socks.

Can he survive life with a chaotic owner and her eccentric friends? Can he deal with his jealousy when a foster puppy comes to stay? And as for his dreams, will they ever come true?

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A Breath-taking Epic

A rare chance not to be missed! Selling at a bargain 99P. Treat a friend this Easter?

A message from my publishers, the wonderful Crooked Cats!

Head to Kenya in Jane Bwye’s “breath-taking” 5* epic, Breath of Africa, a land caught between old superstitions and modern life.


Thirty years of Kenya’s recent history unfold through the lives of Caroline, a privileged woman from the fertile highlands, and Charles Ondiek, a farm labourer with dreams of an Oxford education.Charles’s love for Teresa, daughter of a hated settler farmer, leads to a drama of psychological terror fuelled by Mau Mau oath administrator, Mwangi, who is held in detention for six years.
On his release, Mwangi forces Charles and Teresa apart, then turns his attention to Caroline. But she has inner resources, and joins with Charles to seek out a mysterious ancestral cave.Against the backdrop of Kenya’s beautiful but hostile desert, the curse is finally broken.
But when Caroline discovers the hidden reason for Mwangi’s hatred, she wonders if she’ll ever, really, belong in the country she loves.
http://mybook.to/BreathOfAfrica
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/294986

 

 

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An Uncanny Element of the Unknown

The theme of settings for books has unveiled a treasure trove of responses. Here’s one you’ll really enjoy, from new author Maria Mellins who has chosen an island. Welcome, Maria!

Maria Mullins

At Strawberry Hill House, St. Mary’s University, Twickenham.

Thank you very much for hosting me Jane! And what a fantastic topic.

Having recently finished my first novel, Returning Eden, I am very keen to ponder the idea of just how important setting is to an author. I have heard authors, much more experienced than I, talk about the process of writing a novel and how at times the characters begin to make decisions above and beyond the author’s original intentions. Before you know it, these domineering, unruly characters have got you into all kinds of strife through no (conscious) fault of your own. Well in my story, I did certainly get a sense of this, but it was actually the setting and the overall world-building, that really seemed to exemplify what I can only term as a Frankenstein effect. Locations, architecture, weather, all seemed to take on a life of their own.

My novel is set in the fictional island of Cantillon. The island itself is heavily influenced, appearance wise anyway, by the American prison Alcatraz and a visit I had to San Francisco in my twenties. There isn’t anything new about a story, tinged with horror, being set on an island. Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None is testament to how creepy and atmospheric such a setting can be. Islands are ideal. The beasties can be unleashed and the characters escape routes are very limited. There is also something primeval about islands, they are as old as the earth and who knows what creatures lurk there. Like the ocean, islands present an uncanny element of the unknown.  They make chilling settings. I guess my spin on the island setting that appears so ancient and almost magical, was to introduce characters who are thoroughly modern.

A theme in Returning Eden and in many novels and films that I loved growing up, is the clash between old and new. I have never been too keen on period fiction, tending to prefer my novels and movies to straddle ancient and modern worlds both thematically and visually. I love the idea of college kids, dressed in the latest fashion, wandering around labyrinthine architectures from the eighteenth century, or being dwarfed by gargantuan stone fountains in the shape of mythical sea gods. The Sookie Stackhouse novels by Charlaine Harris contain this lovely blend of ancient history, vampirism (that is archaic) but with contemporary characters. Films like Wes Craven’s Scream from the nineties contain beautiful, overbearing landscapes, with a teenage girl running around in corridors in the dark. I wanted to recapture this theme of anachronism in Cantillon Island, and create a world that is looking backwards and forwards simultaneously. So at the centre of the island is Cantillon College, an eighteenth century castle that oozes over the entire grounds, but its student body are a bunch of contemporary British teenagers.

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Cantillon College is the main focal point of the novel, both in terms of action and atmosphere. It is a gothic castle that I can’t fully separate out from my own experiences studying and now lecturing at St Mary’s University, home of Strawberry Hill House. Many a stormy night I’ve spent walking the hallways after lectures, thinking how lucky I am to be able to dwell in such a beautiful, gothic environment, and especially one that is so steeped in history of the gothic novel. Strawberry Hill House and gothic writing go hand-in-hand. Horace Walpole transformed the site in Strawberry Hill into his ‘little gothic castle’ in 1747. It was on these premises that he wrote A Castle of Otranto, which is commonly regarded to be the first gothic novel and an influence for Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. Needless to say inspiration comes easily when you are surrounded by such a place.

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(Above) The Oceanides, York House, Twickenham. A direct influence on the fountain scene in my novel.

Alongside the architecture and the gothic tone of the novel (it rains a lot!) I have to say that the ocean is the most inspiring of settings. I think part of the reason that I wrote Returning Eden, and this will become more apparent as I continue with the series, was in attempt to recreate my experience of watching films like Jaws for the first time. I love horror stories and these sea-baddies have always given me the heebie-jeebies, especially as a kid. Even now, any film that includes underwater footage immediately piques my interest. Taking Jaws as an example, the story includes that ancient sense of creation, of the prehistoric, in the form of a man-eating shark. Jaws doesn’t present an actual real-life shark that should be respected and protected, It presents a fantasy man-eating sea monster (hell-bent on revenge if you watch all the Jaws movies) that can legitimately threaten any given number of modern scenarios, as we can wonder – what if? It is just within the realms of reality. If 95 percent of the ocean remains unexplored then what can be lurking out there? I wanted to write something that addressed this question and made me feel terrified and excited all at once.

Amazon link: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Returning-Eden-Maria-Mellins-ebook/dp/B01C0OQJL2/

Maria’s Professional website: http://www.stmarys.ac.uk/arts-and-humanities/staff/maria-mellins.htm

 

 

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Chinese company accused of wilfully destroying Kenya’s best beach

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Help – we need to stop this…

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Dull Grey Sky Heavy with Moisture

As a follow-on from last week’s “Rookie in London“, (setting 40 years ago) here’s a preview of how a Kenyan woman sees present day UK for the first time – in Grass Shoots, the sequel, my work in progress… (there’s still time to read Breath of Africa first!)

“The plane dipped its wing. Emily pressed her face against the window and gazed with astonishment at the scene below her. Through broken puffs of cloud neat patterns of green fields were laid out, separated by darker hedgerows and trees. Miniature houses arranged in clustered blocks densely huddled together in creases of hills or corners of winding rivers, as if frightened to expand further. There was safety in proximity, Emily knew, but even in Africa, the people allowed themselves greater room for manoeuvre.

A change of direction and another circle of London, this time revealing an unbelievable density of buildings of various heights and sizes, stretching beyond the horizon as the plane descended from the holding pattern.

Emily touched Paul’s shoulder beside her.

“There’s the Shard,” she said. “It’s exactly like the picture!”

“And I can see the River Thames,” said Maria in the seat in front of her.

“But can either of you identify the bridges?” challenged Paul.

The plane steadied before touching down on the runway at Heathrow.

Endless corridors of slowly moving walkways led to the main terminal. Emily and Maria dived into a washroom, then left Paul at the immigration check to queue at the other countries gate with their new Kenyan passports, which had taken several months to obtain. He had to wait for them, and then led the way to the baggage hall amid the stream of dazed-faced passengers.

It was good to be on her feet for a change, but Emily felt weary. A scramble for trolleys and a tiresome wait in rows three-deep, watching a jumble of bags bumping around the carousel, leaning on the trolley as if she had just walked twenty miles. So many people.

At last. All their luggage intact, Paul again led the way. Emily raced her trolley alongside his.

“How do you know where to go?”

“Follow the signs.”

There were so many bright, flashing signs, so much noise and bustle, she didn’t know where to look. Paul pointed to a plain black and white board high up on a wall indicating the coach station.

“We’ll take the shuttle to Gatwick. It’s better than trying to cram into the tubes with all our luggage., and then we’ll catch the train to Sussex. That reminds me.” He paused to bring out his mobile phone. “I’ll just text Louise to say we’ve arrived.”

The coach pulled away from the terminal and joined a stream of traffic four lanes wide. Emily looked at her watch, and then at the mass of cars keeping pace with them along the M25, sprays of water spewing up from their wheels. It was two hours since they’d landed and she hadn’t yet seen a blade of grass. The gigantic wipers on the coach windscreen groaned at each swipe. She fiddled in her seat beside Paul, feeling a tightening in her chest. So much activity, so much tension, it was quite exhausting.

Disgorged into the covered parking area at Gatwick, they bounced their baggage across the lanes and up corridors into lifts crowded with people. A hasty march along another lengthy passage and onto a platform. A sleek train pulled silently in, its doors opening automatically.

“Quick – let’s take this one.”

Paul pushed her forwards with the surging crowd and grabbed her case, swinging it with his onto a pile of others. He prodded her along the narrow aisle into a vacant seat, taking one for himself on the opposite side. Emily looked round. Maria sat three rows behind her, a bemused expression on her face. She glanced across her neighbour towards the window. The rain had stopped. And this was the first time since landing nearly four hours ago, that she’d seen the sky. The wheels chattered busily along the track as the coach swayed and Emily closed her eyes, trying to cope with the sensations around her.

The tightness didn’t go from her chest until long after Louise met them at the station and drove them to her home, a double story building covered with ivy. The red brick reminded Emily of the new buildings in Amayoni. Similar houses crowded on either side, with only a small open passageway to divide them apart. Louise stopped the car at the front door and Paul leapt out to offload their luggage.

Emily stretched her arms wide and yawned. Some low hills rose in the distance.

“Those are the downs,” said Louise. She showed Emily and Maria upstairs to their room. “I hope you don’t mind sharing?”

Two single beds stood on opposite sides of the room, with matching covers in pastel shades. A table stood between them, and Louise indicated some shelves in a fitted cupboard, which they could use for their clothes.

“I hope you’ll be warm enough with those duvets,” she continued. “If not, just tell me and we’ll turn on the central heating. I know you’ll find our weather trying until you get used to it.”

“Duvets?”

“Yes.” Louise sat on one of the beds and patted beside her. “Come and try it.”

Emily sank into the softness, feeling the feathery lightness, and marvelled. “We are going to learn so many new things.”

…Emily went to the window, but she couldn’t open the lock. Below her, a garden the size of a maize patch in Amayoni, was enclosed in a dense hedge. A bright green close-cut lawn with immaculately trimmed edges separated flower beds containing colourful blooms, set out in artistic design. A small tree stood at the far end, its branches straining in the wind. It was laden with large green fruit, and some had fallen to the grass. They looked like apples, she’d never seen an apple tree before.

A sea of roofs spread into the distance, their different shapes and colours making a motley patchwork. Each building had a chimney, and wires and antennae were strung haphazardly between them.  Beyond rose the downs, blueish in the distance fading into a dull grey sky, heavy with moisture…”

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Inveterate Pantser

I’ve never heard of a pantser before, but I can relate to the problems Rosalind Minett has when she’s writing. So often my characters run away with themselves… but then, it is quite exciting not knowing how your story will eventually get to the ending you know will happen. I leave it to Roz to explain.

Girl-Before-A-WordProcessor-By-Neil-Picasso_opt-4

Thank you very much, Jane, for inviting me onto your very interesting site. The travelogue I describe here occurs only within my four walls: my writing process.

It seems established that there are two kinds of writers: planners and pantsers. Wrestle against it though I will, and despite the discipline of degrees and diplomas and a Ph.D., I write without any planning. I’m not just a dyed-in-the-wool, but an irrevocably skin-stained, bone-irradiated, ingrained irredemiable pantser.

A small germ, such as a stray phrase or incident, visits me. I follow it, it turns into a chapter or a theme. When I start writing, a novel, more often than a short story, begins. When I get to the end of one chapter, I know what has to happen in the next but as I struggle to find exactly the right word something often emerges that enriches or expands the plot, becomes a sub-plot or develops one of the characters. I usually know the ending before I get halfway.

I have two psychological dramas waiting to be edited, have published crime novellas and satirical short stories, and I’m currently working on the last section of Book 3 of a trilogy – historical fiction. However, these all have one thing in common (as well as their manner of creation) — they are character-led. I can’t write any other way.

worldwar2A Relative Invasion is a trilogy set in the Home Front of WWII. It all began with one tiny thread. An elderly man chatting to me mentioned that he had been the last child to be ‘chosen’ by the villagers where his school had been evacuated. The children had been walked around the village in a crocodile. This man had been a tall seven-year-old, (‘He’ll cost a bit to feed and clothe’) and was only taken in reluctantly.

I thought, children must have been so resilient at that time. And so Billy was born, a sturdy well-meaning boy. But he was only aged five in 1937, and so I found myself writing historical fiction (with all the research that entails). The key figure at that time was, of course, Hitler, and his rise to power came as result of German resentment , humiliation and envy after the end of WWI.

Somehow, a cousin for Billy surfaced, one who would experience these negative emotions and turn them into psychological bullying to make Billy’s life a misery. However, this Kenneth would have undoubted talents and be charismatic. I made him artistic and physically frail.

Now I had a theme for my novel whereby the feelings and tensions in Europe (macro scale) would be mirrored in micro by this family, and particularly the two cousins in their developing rivalry.

Billy was going to suffer and the parenting style of those times would mean he wasn’tsword supported. So he needed a secret symbol of power and a supportive adult to advise him as a contrast to the ineffective parents. I hit upon a Cossack sabre, owned by this kindly man. The sabre then needed a background story of its own. This story led me into Russian/Germanic conflict at the start of WWI.  And the sabre as Billy’s icon of power would need to filter through all three books.

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All the characters are affected by the pre-war nerves, preparation for invasion, evacuation and the dreadful reality of war. Billy has other parent figures while evacuated, and Kenneth isn’t far away. They grow through childhood developing different strengths and talents. Adolescence and post-war austerity bring the rivalry to a crisis. The outcome is devastating. Billy must find an honourable resolution, while Kenneth ensures he will always have the last word.

In a much earlier draft, this was Highly Commended in the Yeovil Prize (Novel) 2011, it gained the Editor’s Desk on the Authonomy site with a full and glowing review from Harper Collins, while an extract converted into a short story, was Runner Up in the Guildford Festival.

Research is time-consuming but writing from young Billy’s point of view, was my greatest challenge. If the voice is not right, the reader will not identify with the character. A child’s view will miss the bigger scene. Furthermore, only those scenes that he can directly witness can form the narrative. I used devices such as heading each chapter with a date and headline and having Billy told of events where he hadn’t been present.  It hasn’t been an easy trilogy to write and I did a great deal of rewriting. A planner would have fixed all this before even beginning!

This gives some insight into my writing process. I admit, my pantser style is unlikely to change.

Thank you, Rosalind for that insightful glimpse into the way you work!

All Rosalind’s books can be seen in her author pages on AMAZON.UK,  and AMAZON.COM

 

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